Significant
Harry didn't quite know how this whole situation had started. Light shone through the window onto their bed, and Draco's arms were wrapped firmly around Harry, making it impossible for Harry to move. Draco was still asleep, but Harry was awake, and he had no desire to move an inch. They had a thin, beige sheet covering them. The summer had been unusually hot and humid so far, and this morning was no exception. Harry was already sweating.
Mere weeks after their seventh year at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy had asked for Harry's forgiveness. It had been short, awkward, and irritated, but Harry knew it was sincere.
"Malfoy? What are you doing here?" Harry asked, debating whether or not to just slam the door in his face. Malfoy seemed to see it in his expression.
"Please don't slam the door," he said quickly. He took a deep breath and looked down at his shoes. The seconds ticked by.
"Well?" asked Harry, getting annoyed.
"I wanted… to apologize, Potter," he said quietly. Harry's jaw dropped. Certainly he had heard Malfoy wrong! Malfoys don't apologize. At least not to an unworthy half-blood like him. Plus, he had forced Lucius Malfoy back to Azkaban, and Narcissa was on house-arrest. Draco was scott-free, somehow, but Harry felt he had gotten his revenge enough.
"Come again?" Harry said, confused.
"I'm sorry, Potter," said Malfoy, glaring at him. "Look, I don't want to get all weepy on you or anything, but really, I'm sorry for everything. My parents… They didn't know what they were getting into the first time around, and the second time, it's not like they could just turn their backs… So, we're sorry, as a family." Harry gaped at him.
"Why're you apologizing to me?" asked Harry. "You should apologize to the families your parents destroyed! Like the Weasleys!" Fred's death was still painful, and George was still in St. Mungo's, nearly catatonic, nearly a whole year later.
"Because I can't face that!" snarled Malfoy. "Do you have any idea how humiliating this is? Look, I'm sorry, okay? Tell the bloody Weasleys I'm sorry, if you want! Because I am!" Malfoy spun on his heel and marched away. Harry stared after him, confused.
Harry had, of course, told the Weasleys that Draco had apologized. Ron had stormed around, angry that he no longer was able to justly hate Draco Malfoy and his family. He hated him still, but there was less of a fair reason to. Arthur had looked astonished. Molly had smiled slightly, her eyes filling with tears. Percy just looked at the floor, guilt on his face. He scratched his eyes, but they were dry. Bill hadn't answered the owl Harry had sent to him, informing him. Charlie had sent Harry a letter back, telling him to 'Thank Malfoy for his generous apology, and tell him to go boil his arse in frog spawn.' None of the anger was directed at Harry, of course, and the rest of the letter had been asking after Harry's and George's wellbeing. George had smiled lightly, his eyes glazed over, but he seemed to understand. Every time he heard Draco's name, his eyebrows creased slightly and he frowned. Ginny had locked herself in her room for three hours, and came back down with red eyes.
Hermione alone had taken the news without any kind of grace. She threw herself into a rage Harry had never seen, and he and Ron had backed away from her as she cried and screamed and threw things, looking at each other, alarmed. Twenty minutes after the initial anger wore off Ron had gathered up Hermione and took her into his room, where she slept, with tear lines on her face, for the remainder of the day.
The next day it was as if nothing had happened.
And then, a week later, Harry saw Draco again, at Flourish and Blotts.
"Potter?" Harry looked up from the book he was skimming. It was about simple cooking spells. Harry had been hoping to get a few things he would need for buying an apartment and living on his own. But the sight of Draco Malfoy standing less than five feet away from him in a bookstore dashed that hope completely. Malfoy was looking at him as though he wished he had kept his mouth shut.
"Malfoy," Harry acknowledged, before turning back to his book, praying that Malfoy would go away.
"Potter…Did you tell the-the Weasleys?" he asked. Harry sighed, annoyed. He just wanted to look at his book, not be antagonized by Malfoy.
"Yes, I did," he said. "Is that all?" Malfoy looked shamed. What was up with him? Harry couldn't understand what this whole knew Malfoy was about.
"I'm sorry," he said. He turned his back to Harry and looked at a new bookshelf. Harry knew that this was his chance to let Malfoy go away, meaning that Harry wouldn't have to deal with him. But he wouldn't get any answers that way.
"Malfoy!" Harry said, exasperated. Malfoy turned. "Why are you acting so different?"
"What do you mean?" Harry could tell that Malfoy knew exactly what Harry was talking about, and was looking at his shoes again.
"You know what I mean, Malfoy. Why are you so 'I care' all of a sudden?" Harry was glaring at him through narrowed eyes.
"I don't know," said Malfoy. "It's just… Everything's so different now. My family name is completely mud now, and for some reason, it makes everything easier. It's freeing. I have less… No, I have no formal responsibilities anymore. I am no longer required to hate everyone who isn't Pure-blood. I don't have to ask beforehand. I don't have to automatically hate every Muggleborn I meet. Don't mistake me," he added, smirking, "I do not like Granger at all. But I'm allowed to give everyone a chance, now, since my family isn't a prominent Slytherin-Honored family anymore."
"I don't understand," said Harry.
"I don't understand it, either," said Malfoy. "I never hated you and Weasley and Granger for your blood," he added. "Well, not Granger, at least. I hate her because she's a know-it-all twerp who can't keep her mouth shut." Harry glared. "I hate you because you're the one everyone loves even though you're always screwing up. I hate Weasley simply because he is obnoxious."
Harry couldn't believe Malfoy's audacity. "Well, do you know why I hate you?" he spat.
"I have a few guesses," said Malfoy. Harry ignored him.
"It's because you're a spoiled prick, who only cares about his money and his bloodline and himself, and because you don't give a damn about anyone around you. You walk around all high-and-mighty, but you can't see that every single person is your superior!" The words tumbled from Harry mouth, filled with anger and hate. Malfoy looked like he had been slapped in the face.
"And here I thought it was because I'm better at Quidditch," said Malfoy.
"I'm better at Quidditch," said Harry, sneering. "And you know it." Harry then turned around, dropped his cooking book, and stomped out of the shop. He heard Malfoy mumble something about 'don't care about bloodlines,' but Harry ignored it. He allowed himself a quick backward glance, however, and saw with a kind of vindictive pleasure, that Malfoy looked a unhappy.
Harry remembered this encounter, stroking Draco's hair. He couldn't believe he'd ever gone out of his way to hurt Draco's feelings. He couldn't believe how Draco had changed over such a short period of time. It was as though he had been hiding himself throughout school, in every way. The transformation was astonishing.
Then Harry remembered two weeks later when he had his first taste of real astonishment. He had never even seen it coming.
The moment the front door to Ron and Hermione's apartment was flung open, Harry was surprised. Hermione looked like the funniest, but worst, thing imaginable had happened. He wasn't quite sure how that was possible, but she looked very serious. However, there was a twinkle in her eye that suggested things weren't quite as bad as they looked from her expression.
"Um, hi?' asked Harry. Hermione grabbed his arm without saying a word and pulled him into her apartment. Ron was sitting on the couch, staring forward, his mouth open. He looked as though he was slapped in the face by the strongest hand on earth.
Hermione sat him down on the couch next to Ron. Harry looked at him, a little worried. "Um, what's wrong with him?" he asked, nervous.
"Harry, we've got some news for you," she said. Harry grinned. He was sure he knew where this was going.
Ron had asked Hermione to marry him! He couldn't see either of her hands to know if she was wearing a ring, but it made sense. Ron's expression was from shock that she had accepted!
"That's great! I'm so proud of you two!" he said happily, thumping Ron on the back. Ron turned to stare at him, closing his mouth. He shook his head. He glanced quickly at Hermione, and then burst into hysterical laughter.
"Oh Merlin, Harry, its unbelievable! You'll bloody die!" Ron was having trouble breathing at this point. Harry gaped.
"What?" he asked. "What is it?" Hermione smiled. Harry could tell she was enjoying this moment as thoroughly as possible. He was impatient, however, and wanted an answer. "What is it? Tell me!" he whined.
"Harry," Hermione began. The smile on her face was a huge grin. "Harry, Draco Malfoy's gay." Harry's jaw dropped.
No. Absolutely bloody not. That was NOT possible. He stared at her, torn between hysteria like Ron's and a bit of horror.
"Hermione," he croaked, "are you pulling my leg? Malfoy's gay?" Hermione was grinning, and she giggled.
"Draco Malfoy, our arch-nemesis of Hogwarts, is dating Terry Boot, of all people." She raised her eyes. Harry's mouth opened wider. Ron just laughed.
"Terry Boot fancied you!" he said, confused. "He did! He told me so in sixth year! I saw him on the Hogwarts Express for about ten seconds, but he told me to tell you 'hi' from him! I swear, he fancied you!" Ron was howling.
"He did, but Terry's found he likes… others better…" Hermione put her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing.
"Well," said Ron, between laughs, "Terry's one thing, but Malfoy?"
"How in the world did you find this out?" Harry exclaimed. "I've seen Malfoy twice in one month and he didn't tell me anything like that!"
"Oh, you saw him again?" Hermione asked. "When?"
"A few days ago in Flourish and Blotts. Didn't think it was too important, since he was buying books. But ANYWAY, how did you find this out?" Harry said loudly.
"Well, Terry wrote to me about a question he had about the war. Your side of the story, mostly. I told him I couldn't help him out much, and told him to write to you if he had questions. I asked how he was doing in my letter back, and he went on a spree. Apparently he and Malfoy just got together a couple days ago. You should've seen his return letter, it was unimaginable! 'I know you didn't like him at school, but wow, Hermione, he's the sweetest guy I've ever met and he's so nice to me! I don't know what I was thinking at school, chasing after girls!'" Harry's mouth felt like it could go no wider. Ron was crying with laughter and holding his sides like they might fall off.
"Talk about an insult," Harry said, barely registering that he was talking. Hermione giggled. A smile was spreading across Harry's face.
"Yes, I know," she said. "But it doesn't matter. Come on, let's please go and tell people. Ron's family, my family, the Daily Prophet, I don't care!"
"Got something against gays, Hermione?" choked Ron. He was wiping his eyes.
"No, just against Malfoy," she said. She grinned. "Oh, honestly, I'd love to see him right now and just have something to make fun of him with! I know it's petty and childish, but I don't care! We didn't have a chance to be childish at school, and I'm going to now!" She grinned and sat down next to Ron. He hugged her tightly.
"Hermione, this has become the best day of my entire life," he said.
"Better then Ferret Day?" she asked. "Better then the day we defeated Voldemort?" Ron didn't flinch.
"Well, better then Ferret Day," said Ron. "Nothing beats killing Voldemort, though!" Harry stiffened, but his smile did not waver.
"Yeah," he said. "Nothing." He promptly burst into laughter. Malfoy was gay!
Harry grinned at the memory. It was funny. Draco was still asleep. It was almost time for them both to get up for work. Harry sighed and glanced at the clock again. The alarm was going to go off in five minutes.
Harry didn't want to get up, or go to work. True, he played Quidditch for a living, but he didn't want to leave Draco's side just yet. Or ever, really.
"Malfoy!" shouted Harry. Draco Malfoy was a few feet ahead of him, but there was a mass of thirteen year old witches between them. "MALFOY!" Draco finally heard and turned. He saw Harry and his eyes widened. He stopped, though. The teenage girls looked at Malfoy and giggled, and Harry himself couldn't help but notice that Malfoy looked pretty damn good today.
"What Potter?" he asked. There was very little malice in his voice. Harry looked Malfoy over. His trousers were fairly tight; Harry couldn't help but smirk at the thought of 'gay' that ran through his mind as he observed Malfoy's appearance.
"Where are you going all dressed up?" asked Harry.
"To break up with Terry Boot," said Malfoy, pulling his black dragon leather jacket closer to his body, as though fighting a sudden chill. "Is that all you want?"
"So it's true, then?" Harry asked. "You're actually a homo?" Malfoy glared.
"Yes, Potter," he snarled. "I'm a flamer, happy? Going to tear me to shreds with gay comments for the rest of my life?" Harry was startled.
"No," Harry said honestly. "I was just wondering if Hermione was pulling a fast one on me." Malfoy looked surprised.
"She'd do that?" he asked. "She has a sense of humour?"
"Of course," said Harry, irritated. "Anything to make me look stupid." Malfoy snorted.
"Easy job, then," he said. Harry gave Malfoy a look as though asking him if that was the best he could do.
Talking with Malfoy wasn't actually that bad. The rude banter was common, but it lacked the bite it had before, on both sides. Harry supposed that they were both just sick of fighting.
"Ha ha, Malfoy," he said. "Why're dumping Boot?"
"Because he is the clingiest person I have ever met in my entire life," Malfoy said. "He acts like we're married, for God's sake. We've been dating for a total of two weeks. I'm not quite ready to settle down yet." Malfoy rolled his eyes. "That, and he isn't the best kisser in the world." Harry's mouth fell open.
"Urgh, Malfoy, you kissed him?" Malfoy grinned.
"What, does that gross you out, Potter? You? I thought nothing could penetrate your mask of bravery and fearlessness. Male kissing is what it takes?" Harry glared.
"No, Malfoy, that isn't it. It's the idea of you kissing anybody that grosses me out," he said. "Who turned you off girls, anyway? Parkinson?"
"No, it was Bulstrode, actually," said Malfoy.
"WHAT?" Harry yelped. Malfoy snorted.
"Of course it was Pansy, you fool," said Malfoy. "No man with half a brain – that is to say, those in Longbottom's brainwave area – would even go near Millicent Bulstrode. Straight or otherwise."
"I always thought Bulstrode liked other girls anyway," said Harry.
"Oh, she does," said Malfoy casually. "And I'm not kidding this time."
"Are you serious?"
"Completely." Harry stared. "Look, Potter, as much as I do not completely hate this conversation, I've got to go and break it off with Boot. Owl me if you feel like chatting about Millicent Bulstrode's sex life." He handed Harry an address. Harry raised his eyebrows.
"Hitting on me, Malfoy?" asked Harry jokingly. Malfoy smirked.
"Completely," he said again, then turned and walked away. Harry gaped after him.
Draco's blonde hair was plastered to his face in the heat. Harry stroked it away from his face and kissed his forehead. The alarm went off and Draco started, looking around blearily.
"Huh? Wassgoinon?" he muttered.
"Shhhh," said Harry in his ear. "It's just the alarm clock." Draco groaned.
"Ugh, I do not want to go to work today," he said. "Working for your best friend is really taking a toll on our relationship." Harry smirked.
"I don't want to go to work either," said Harry.
"Oh please. You play Quidditch. Your practices start at ten am and end at four. My day starts at eight and runs 'til six. You aren't in Magical Catastrophe training…"
"I find it unbelievably ironic that you're on the Accidental Magical Reverse Squad. Or, will be, at any rate. Not like you have ever been great shakes at magic yourself," said Harry, grinning. Draco shoved at him lightly, smiling.
Harry read the letter over and over again. He didn't know why exactly Malfoy's handwriting captivated him so, but it did. The lines of the words were so precise, so exact, yet so loose and free, looping this way and that. Malfoy had a really nice hand.
"Who's that from?" asked Ron, leaning over and trying to read over Harry's shoulder.
"No one," said Harry, quickly stuffing the letter away. Ron could never know that Harry was corresponding with Malfoy in any way besides face-to-face insults. "No one you know I mean, somebody from work…"
"Oh, okay," said Ron. "Hey, Ginny wanted me to give you this." Harry jumped over the back of the couch at Ron's apartment and held out his hand. Ron rolled his eyes. He put a wrapped gift in his outstretched hand.
"Happy eighteenth, mate," he said. "From Ginny, though, so it would be more like," – Ron put on a high, girlish voice – "'Happy Birthday, Harry! You're eighteen ohmygod I love you!'" Ron laughed and walked away. Harry had gone rigid.
"She said she loves me?" he asked jerkily.
"Not to me," said Ron, "but I think it's pretty obvious. She might've told Hermione. And don't you break her heart, either." Ron shot Harry a warning look. Harry nodded. He looked at the gift in his hands.
"Hey," he said to Ron, "I've got to go. I have practice tomorrow morning, and I've got to get my Firebolt into tip top shape for the last tryouts." Ron waved goodbye, and Harry left.
Harry Apparated to Diagon Alley, still holding it in his hands. He sat down at a table outside Fortescue's and set it on the table.
Ginny. They'd been together through it all, it seemed. They'd broken up, got back together, and fought Voldemort together. But somehow, Harry felt as though accepting this gift would be wrong. He would feel guilty.
"Why should I feel guilty?" he asked himself aloud. "It isn't as though I'm cheating on her or anything."
"Maybe you don't love her and your subconscious is trying to tell you that," said a drawling voice behind Harry. He spun around in his seat and saw Draco Malfoy behind him, smirking.
"What do you want, Malfoy? I'm not in the mood," said Harry, glaring.
"Easy, Potter," said Malfoy, putting his hands up in defeat and sitting down across from Harry in the metal wire chair. "I'd say you're going mad though, if you're talking to yourself about your girlfriend's birthday gift." Harry's eyes narrowed.
"Malfoy," he began testily.
"Whoa, Potter, cool down," said Malfoy, raising his hands in a stopping gesture again. "What's the matter, anyway?" Harry sighed.
"Why in the world would I tell you of all people?" asked Harry, exasperated.
"Because I'm here and I'm listening and you need to get it out," said Malfoy. "And because you can trust me." Harry snorted.
"The first three, maybe, but definitely not because I can trust you," said Harry. "Which I don't," he added as an afterthought.
"If you really didn't trust me you'd've left," said Malfoy.
"I trust you to sit across from me without attacking, yes, but I don't trust you with anything about my personal life," said Harry.
"Oh, please," said Malfoy, rolling his eyes. "Who on Earth would I tell? Weasley? Granger? Weasley's sister? Yes, you know how my owl can find my way to their shack with its eyes closed! Speaking of, why didn't you answer my owl? I sent that thing over a week ago!"
At this, Harry realized that he hadn't answered, and the letter felt like a lead weight in his pocket. He had been immersed in staring at Malfoy's amazing handwriting. He blushed. Malfoy's eyebrows rose.
"I… I've been busy," said Harry. "I haven't got the chance yet."
"Of course, Potter." Malfoy smirked again. "So, what's up with you and Weaslette?"
"Don't call her that," said Harry.
"Sorry," said Malfoy, astonishing Harry. "What's up with you and Weasley's sister?" Harry gaped at Malfoy. He noticed Malfoy was exceedingly well-dressed again.
"Well, um, nothing's actually up," said Harry. Malfoy looked like he was holding a comment in and it seemed to be something he very much wanted to say. "What?"
"When you say, 'nothing's up,' is that the problem?" Malfoy burst out. He then burst into laughter. Harry's mouth fell open. Draco Malfoy had said something that was, without a doubt, funny. The only problem was, it was a joke that would only be used amongst friends. Harry and Malfoy certainly were not friends.
Harry remembered that as the beginning of his and Draco's honest friendship. They met up every now and then, having coffee or lunch. Harry eventually had no problem telling Draco particulars about his personal life. Draco told Harry about his life as well.
Draco and Harry had a very different friendship than Harry and Ron, and Harry found that he liked the difference. Harry and Ron agreed on almost everything – Quidditch teams, ice cream flavors, the important things – but Draco and Harry had so many opposing ideas that Harry often found himself enjoying arguing with Draco more than agreeing with him.
Not that agreeing was a bad thing. Somehow, Harry and Draco got along all the time, no matter what they were talking about. Even if they were arguing about something like which member of the Weird Sisters was hairiest or social politics, they were actually getting along.
Harry loved to talk to Draco. He was able to open up to Draco ways totally different from with Ron or Hermione, because he had grown up talking to Ron and Hermione. Draco was new and exciting, and everything they spoke about seemed to have an exciting gleam to it, just because they were talking about it.
"So," said Harry, trying to breathe through his laughter, "After Mort talk Tony that he'd gotten it from his sister, Tony hits the Bludger at Mort, and Mort didn't even get out of the way in time!" Draco howled with laughter. "Hit him smack in the face! He was out cold for a week!" Draco was gasping for breath.
"Oh, Lord," said Draco. "Professional Quidditch is a rough business, then?"
"Rougher then you could ever imagine. Your own team is always trying to do you in, it's unbelievable. Good thing that I out-caught every Seeker in tryouts by about four. You should see when we do Official versus Reserve practice games… It's bloody brutal. The Reserve team knows if they do well enough they might get a switch and make the Official team!"
Draco had listened to every word intently. He was gazing at Harry with a smile on his face. Harry, for his part, sighed and asked how Draco's new job was going.
"Oh, at Magical Catastrophes?" asked Draco. Harry nodded. "Well enough. I start response training next week. It takes two years to get through training, so it'll be slow-going. But it's really what I want to do, so I'm going to go for it. It's worth it." Harry nodded and smiled.
"I'm glad you're doing what you really want to do," said Harry. "Once my Quidditch is over, I dunno what I'm going to do with myself."
"I'm sure you'll find something," said Draco.
"How's your mother?" asked Harry. Draco sighed.
"Not much better," he said. "She misses my father. Her house arrest is only for another two weeks, then I can move out. Then she can visit my father as much as she likes."
"How long does he have left in there?" asked Harry, looking at the table.
"Forever," said Draco bluntly. "But don't feel bad, he probably deserves longer." Harry sighed and felt bad. Draco reached a hand over the table and put it over Harry's. "Really," he said gently. "Don't feel bad. He did terrible things, and he has to face the repercussions." Harry didn't move his hand away from Draco's touch.
Draco was fast becoming one of his better friends. He wondered where this Draco Malfoy had come from, and what had happened to the one he had met at Hogwarts.
Draco fidgeted beside Harry, and Harry knew that Draco didn't want to get up. Harry leaned his head down and placed his mouth next to Draco's neck and whispered, "Shhh," and kissed his neck lightly. Harry felt Draco melt against him, and a shiver ran down Harry's spine. He knew there was no where in the entire world he'd rather be than here, in Draco's arms, sprawled out naked and with morning breath and bed hair.
"What are you thinking about?" asked Draco, putting his hand on Harry's face tenderly. Harry smiled at him.
"The first time," he murmured to Draco, "that we kissed."
"Damn, Draco, tonight was fun," Harry said. Draco grinned and agreed.
"We definitely have to do this sort of thing again soon," said Draco. Harry smiled.
"Thanks," he said.
"What for?" asked Draco, looking puzzled.
"Well, since I broke up with Ginny I've been pretty down, but tonight really just brought my spirits up. Ron hasn't been talking to me, and I understand him, but Hermione just isn't who I need right now."
"You need Weasley?" asked Draco dubiously.
"No," said Harry, rolling his eyes and leaning on the door of his apartment. "I need you." Draco stared at him.
"Harry…" he said quietly. Harry looked at him. He was looking at the ground. Harry opened the door to his flat.
"Come in, Draco," said Harry. Draco looked up, shocked.
"Um, alright," he said, walking past Harry into the living room. Harry shut the door and motioned for Draco to sit next to him on the couch. Draco sat. There was silence for a moment, then they both spoke at once.
"Harry, I –"
"Look, Draco –"
They stopped. Draco blushed a little, but Harry put a hand on Draco's knee encouragingly. Draco looked up at him pleadingly.
"Harry, I'm sorry, I'm being so terribly obvious," he said. "I didn't mean to, I know you're not like me. I know you don't like me, I know you're – you're straight." The words seemed painful just to say. Harry had not removed his hand from Draco's knee. "I know you're too kind to just leave me and never speak to me again, but I am sorry for putting you in an uncomfortable position…"
Harry gave a little smirk.
"I'm not feeling uncomfortable at all," he said slyly, and he leaned over and kissed Draco lightly on the lips. Draco's hands went immediately to Harry's face, and held him there tightly. Harry didn't protest. He only wrapped his arms around Draco's waist and pulled him closer.
Draco was smiling, evidently remembering the same moment. He leaned in and kissed Harry, letting his lips hang on Harry's for a moment that felt longer than necessary, but far too short.
"You know," Draco muttered against Harry's mouth, "that was one of your wittier comebacks." Harry chuckled.
"Yes, I know," he whispered back. "I'm quite proud of that one." Draco laughed as well. Draco sighed then, and leaned his head on Harry's bare chest. He played with Harry's sparse chest hair for a moment, and Harry could tell he wanted to say something.
"What is it?" Harry asked quietly.
"I don't know if you want to hear it," said Draco. "Not yet. It might be too early."
"Tell me anyway," said Harry, oblivious. "You know how curious I get. Soon I'll just start snooping through your things, looking for your diary if you don't tell me."
"First of all, it's a journal," snapped Draco, but there a smile on his face. "Second of all, it's something I wrote in one of my old journals, so it won't be in my new one. Not yet, at least."
"Now you're just being mean," said Harry. "It'll force me to retaliate, if you know what I mean." Draco raised an eyebrow.
"Excuse me?"
"Do you want to be tickled?"
"No," said Draco.
"Then tell me," said Harry. "You know I love everything you have to say."
"Even if it's something significant? Something that isn't a joke?" Draco swallowed audibly. "Even if I say that I love you?" Draco asked, his voice dropping so low that Harry barely heard him. "Even if it's in that gross, forever kind of way?"
Harry paused for the length of three heartbeats, then leaned in towards Draco's ear.
"I especially love it when you say that," he whispered.